


The Family You Choose

by kijilinn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Boarding School, Crossover, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter AU, Hogwarts, M/M, New Horizons, Teacher!Negan, multi-fandom crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijilinn/pseuds/kijilinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was eleven, Dean Winchester woke up to an owl beating itself against the window of his motel room and his father arguing with a strange woman who called herself a witch. And thus opens the wizarding world to the Winchesters. How will Dean and Sam cope with Voldemort when they can barely deal with the changing staircases?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

**Prologue**

Her tear-streaked face turned up to his, Albus watched as impassively as he could as Mary Winchester begged, "Please. She was one of my best friends. Our kids were going to grow up together. He already knows Dean. He'll be safe with me in Kansas and I'm going to raise my boys like Muggles anyway. My husband's a Muggle, sir. Please."

"I'm sorry, Mary," Albus sighed and shook his head. "But he must be with Lily's family."

Anger in the tears made her even more beautiful and Mary took a step toward one of the most powerful wizards of all time, her body trembling with contained emotion. "But Petunia hates her. Have you seen how she's treating Lily's son? At least with me, he would be loved. Family is more than blood, Dumbledore. You know that."

He smiled sadly, "I do. But this is a special case. I'm so sorry, Mary, but I can't allow him to leave the country. It's just too dangerous." When the young woman slumped into herself to sob, he reached out and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "There will be time for you to be with Harry, my dear. I promise. He will know you and your sons someday. Just not yet."

"If you say so," Mary whispered and turned to go, her arms still wrapped around her barely swollen belly. Six weeks pregnant with her second child and she was still a brilliant as an incandescent fire. Dumbledore watched her go with a sinking feeling in his chest.

He hated lying to them.

**Chapter One**

Gustava Anderson stood quietly in the airport, considering her options. She knew most of the teachers at Hogwarts thought her mad to have taken the intercontinental flight from Glasgow to Wichita instead of just Apparating. Especially with an owl. But Susan didn't like to Apparate and Gustava had more trust in Muggle technology than most witches her age. So, here she stood in the Wichita airport, trying to decide if she should rent a car or go invisible and ride her broom. In the end, she opted for the latter since it would allow Susan a chance to stretch her wings.

The owl carried a very important letter in the package of mail tied to her leg. And, of course, since Gustava was accompanying her, it could have been carried by hand, but tradition was tradition. Especially where Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was concerned.

Dean Winchester's letter to Hogwarts.

Gustava smiled to herself as she cast the invisibility spell over herself and her luggage, then released Susan from her cage. She had gone to school with Lily Evans, Mary Campbell, and James Potter. She and Lily had been in Mary's wedding to John Winchester, the Muggle who had captured their friend's heart and convinced her to stay at home in the States. She and Mary had held each other and cried at Lily and James's funeral. She had supported Mary's appeal to Dumbledore to adopt Harry and had even begged him herself to take the boy on.

She had been at Mary's funeral, too. Weeping silently for all of them. She had avoided John and the boys at that funeral, though. She had seen the grief and rage in his face and it had frightened her. What had become of those boys without Mary? Gustava was both eager and worried to find out now.

Gustava allowed Susan to take the lead, since the owl knew the way to the Winchesters' current address with more assurance than any human postal carrier. The flight took a few hours and Gustava wondered a few times if maybe the owl was lost after all. But Susan dipped a wing and sailed in a spiral around a small roadside motel and Gustava followed her down. Outside of the motel was a familiar black car that she remembered from Mary's funeral with a pang. Susan began to batter herself against one of the motel windows and Gustava could see that the address on the envelope had changed to read "Dean Winchester, Rte 4, Room #8, Hope, KS, United States of America."

Carefully, Gustava set herself down in the parking lot of the motel and leaned her broom against the black classic car. With a twitch of her wand, she appeared and strode toward the door of room number eight.

*******

The wild commotion against the window woke Dean up long before anyone else had a chance to react. His father was still sound asleep with a pillow over his head and Sam just mumbled something before rolling over again. "What the hell?" Dean whispered as he sneaked to the window and peeked out of the curtain. Outside, a beautiful brown owl perched and battered its wings against the window frame. When it saw him watching it, the owl stopped and tilted its head to look at him more closely. Movement beyond the owl drew his attention and Dean saw a tall woman with dark brown hair in a tight braid striding toward their room. He ducked down quickly, but saw her lift her wrist and the owl flew to her.

Someone knocked on the door.

John jerked and groaned, hugging his pillow more tightly around his ears. "Go 'way," he mumbled, so Dean crept to the door and cracked it open without undoing the chain lock.

"Dean Winchester?" the woman said softly. She had pale, freckled skin and stunningly blue eyes made even larger by the glasses perched high on her long, thin nose. She met his eyes and smiled at him, an expression that made him both wary and strangely warm, like he knew her from somewhere. "Here." She leaned down and set the owl on the ground outside the door. The owl looked up at Dean and stuck out its leg importantly; he could see something tied around its ankle.

"Who are you?" he asked her in bewilderment.

"A friend," she said. Dean peered at her and frowned. She had a very strange accent, somewhere between a British accent and maybe a German one. He couldn't quite place it and it bothered him why she seemed so familiar and yet so strange.

"Dean?" His father's voice drifted to him just as Dean was leaning down to untie the letter from the owl's leg. Dean jumped and turned toward the movement as John Winchester came to the door in his boxer shorts and t-shirt. "What the hell is going on?" John looked at the woman outside and a dark cloud passed over his sleep-fogged face, sharpening into awareness and something very close to rage. "Gustava. What the fuck are you doing here?"

The woman--Gustava--straightened up slowly and gave him a small, tight smile. "Hello, John. It's good to see you again." Dean glanced from her to his father again, taking note of the way she kept her hands folded neatly in front of her but one hand was creeping up her sleeve slightly. She must have a weapon there. "Would you like to put some pants on and join me for breakfast? I have some things to discuss with you."

"About what?" John snapped and Dean winced. He glanced down at the owl and noticed that it was still standing on one leg, hopping occasionally and starting to look uncomfortable.

"Is the owl okay?" he asked in spite of himself.

"She's waiting for you to accept your letter," Gustava told him quietly.

John's face darkened further and Dean could almost feel the angry waves rolling off of him. "You've got nothing for him, Gus. Get the fuck out of here."

"It is Dean's decision," Gustava replied. "Please, John. Come have breakfast with me. Let's talk about this."

"Fine." John turned sharply from the door and snarled at Dean, "Don't touch that owl until I get back."

Dean nodded and retreated inside the room, sitting on the bed next to Sam who had woken up enough to watch blearily. Gustava offered the owl a leg up onto her arm, then settled the beautiful bird on the back of the motel recliner. When John was dressed, he stormed out after Gustava without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him.

"What's going on?" Sam asked in a small voice.

Dean hugged his brother with one arm, his eyes still on the yellow eyes of the bird. "I have no idea, Sammy."

*******

Gustava sat down across from John in the narrow booth. The closest place for food was a drive-in truck stop, but it was better than having to have this conversation without something physically between them. He glowered at her for a moment, then picked up the menu and flicked his eyes over it quickly. Gustava lifted her own, but didn't read the options of greasy pancakes or greasier eggs. Her eyes were on John's face.

The man had aged painfully since Mary's death. There was more grey in his beard and the creases around his eyes were deeper. He was still a strikingly handsome man and she felt the old jealousy rising. Mary always had had excellent taste in men and the perfect balance of charisma and humility to catch their attention. Gustava's own stoic glower and ice queen appearance tended to work against her, no matter how warm her heart. Besides: this was her best friend's widower. She shook off her thoughts with an internal sigh and brought her attention to the menu.

The waitress drifted over and poured coffee into their mugs. "What can I get ya?"

"Special and a side of sausage," John said, folding his menu.

"Toast and eggs, please," added Gustava. "Scrambled."

"Be right back," the waitress nodded and collected their menus as she headed back to the grill.

John sipped at his coffee, then raised an eyebrow at Gustava. "Well?"

She didn't answer immediately, trying to ignore the squirming nerves in her stomach as she poured two sugars into her coffee and half a cream. Stirring it with a small wave of her finger, she looked back at him. "John, Dean has Mary's aptitude. He's been offered a place at Hogwarts."

"Aptitude?" John snorted softly. "I'm not letting my son sell himself to a demon, Gus. That's just crazy."

"Magic isn't what you think," she whispered urgently. "Not all of it, anyway. When we say witches, we mean something very different from the crude demon worshipers you have here. Mary was a talented witch, John. Innately talented. No demons involved. And so is Dean."

John slammed his fist down beside his silverware and glared at her, "So you just want me to let my boy go? Send him away to some boarding school where you'll teach him whatever the fuck it is you teach over there?"

"Charms and Muggle Studies," Gustava sighed. "These studies are important, John. If you leave him without training, he could hurt himself. Some of this will come without training and it could lead to all kinds of problems. Please, if you won't consider sending him to Hogwarts, at least consider enrolling him in a tutor program here. I have numbers of wizards you could call."

They stared at each other for a moment, Gustava's eyes pleading and John's not giving an inch. "I don't want to send my son away," John finally said stubbornly.

"And what does Dean want?"

"I'm his father."

Gustava's eyes sparked with irritation. "And being his father negates any desires or needs he might have personally, is that it? John, please listen to reason."

"I'm listening," John snapped. "I've yet to hear any in this conversation."

Anger blossomed on Gustava's face and she stood up with an inarticulate snarl, hands clenched in front of her chest. "You mulish, irresponsible Muggle!" A lightbulb blew out above the bar and someone yelped. "I am talking about your son attending the most prestigious boarding school in the world on a full scholarship, of which his mother was an alumnus. And you act like... like..."

John slowly stood up and leaned across the table, his dark eyes alight with answering anger. "Like what?" he asked, enunciating each consonant precisely.

Gustava's nose wrinkled as she hissed, "Like an American."

With a slow, amused snort, John sat down again, leaned back in his chair, and smirked up at her. "Joke's on you, princess. I AM an American."

Gustava turned her head slightly and noticed their waitress standing to the side, clutching the tray with their breakfast on it. She sighed and inclined her head to acknowledge the older woman before sitting down across from John again. The waitress quickly spread out their food, refilled their water and coffee cups, then skittered away again. John was already digging into the food as Gustava slowly pushed her toast around the plate, finally breaking down to spread something that vaguely resembled strawberry jam across the surface of the warmed bread.

They ate for a few moments in silence before John finally said, "So. Full scholarship, huh?"

"For both of them, if Sam shows ability, too," confirmed Gustava. "The same one their mother received."

John picked at the sausage on his plate, then leaned forward, fork in one hand and wrists on the edge of the table. He studied Gustava's face intently, until she started to blush from the scrutiny. "Why are you really here, Gus?"

Gustava blushed deeper and looked away. "Mary was my friend, John. I wanted to see her sons. I've missed them."

"Really."

Her eyes flashed when she met his gaze this time. "Don't be cruel." John leaned back, his palms raised in surrender as Gustava sighed and added, "And Dumbledore asked me to. He thought if anyone could convince you to agree to this, it was one of Mary's school friends."

John took another bite of pancake and eggs, chewing thoughtfully. "I still don't know what killed her, you know," he said in a soft voice. "I was...kind of counting on teaching the boys to hunt. In case I don't make it."

"They will be far more effective hunters trained in magic," Gustava reminded him gently. "The strongest wizards in our world learned at this school. Some of them are still here, teaching. Dean will still be able to carry your burdens, John. Just give him the chance to learn what his mother's blood is trying to teach him."

"I'm going to miss him," John admitted in a small voice and Gustava gave him a warm smile which transformed her face from icy and stern to caring and soft. "What will he do when school's out?"

"He's welcome to come home for the Christmas holiday and for summer recess," Gustava said. She reached across and put her hand on the back of John's. "And you're always welcome to visit. And write to him."

John looked at her like she was crazy for a moment, "How'm I supposed to do that?"

"I'll loan you Susan, my owl. She knows the way to and from Hogwarts and the best ways to get there without exhausting herself."

Slowly, John shook his head and chuckled, "I will never understand your world."

"You're not meant to," Gustava grinned at him.

"Fine," John sighed. "If Dean wants to go, I won't stop him."

"Excellent." Gustava glanced down, realized she had left her hand leaning on John's, and retrieved it quickly. "I'll leave Susan with you if you wish to talk with him about it without me there."

"I can't answer any of his questions," John said helplessly. "Stay. At least you can tell him more about his mother." The pain in his face made Gustava swallow and look away briefly. The loss of Mary was still so tangible in his eyes.

"All right," she said. "I'll stay." He gave her a small half-smile and they finished their breakfast in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The massive brown owl never took its eyes off of Dean the entire time his father and the strange woman were gone. Dean squirmed on the bed and glanced at Sam, who was also staring at the owl. He took a moment to consider his little brother. Sam was barely six years old and his hazel eyes were like saucers at the sight of the preternaturally intelligent bird sitting in their motel room. "Doin' okay, Sammy?" Sam nodded mutely without ever looking away from the owl. Dean grinned a little, then turned back to look at the bird, too. "I wonder what the thing on its leg is." 

"The lady, Gustava? She said it was your letter. You've got mail?" Sam looked up at his brother and they exchanged puzzled expressions.  

"Don't know who'd be writing to me," Dean muttered. He slid off the bed and took a few tentative steps toward the owl.  

"Dad said not to touch it!" Sam gasped in alarm when Dean reached out a hand to brush the feathers along the back of the owl's head. The bird gave a soft, contented hoot and closed its eyes, so Dean accepted this as permission to pet her. Nothing bad happened, so Sam just sat on the bed and chewed his thumbnail while Dean continued to pet the owl. "Dad seemed pretty mad," Sam finally whispered, his eyes flicking from Dean and the bird to the worn motel door. 

Dean turned away from the owl and came back to sit next to his brother on the scratchy polyester bedspread. "It's okay, Sammy. I don't think anything bad is going to happen. That chick seemed like she knew Dad and he obviously knew her name. And I swear I know her from somewhere. I think I've seen her before." 

"When?" Sam's wide eyes grew even wider. 

"I..." Dean trailed off and looked back at the owl, chewing his lip and furrowing his brow. "I'm not sure. I think it was a long time ago. Like maybe she knew Mom?" They huddled together in the dim, early-morning light slanting in through the patchy black-out curtain, both suddenly nervous and quiet. 

There was a truly horrible sound and the owl shifted on the back of the chair. Something schlupped to the floor and the stench of poop filled the air. "What the hell!?" Dean cried. "Did the owl just shit on the rug?" The owl answered with a soft hoot and shifted her tail, bobbed her head. If he didn’t know better, Dean would have said she was embarrassed. "God, it reeks." Dean rushed to open a window while Sam hopped up and down on the bed, trying to reach the pull cord for the ceiling fan without much luck.  

Just as Sam finally managed to close his chubby fingers around the cord and pull, the door opened and John strode back into the room. Sam squeaked in surprise and forgot to let go of the cord, pulling the entire chain down from the fan fixture while Dean yelped and tripped over the table next to the window he was struggling to open. The resulting crash was enough to upset the owl, who flapped her enormous wings and gave a frantic hoot before leaping into the air and flying into John's face.  

"Susan!" cried Gustava from behind John. John floundered with a yelp, trying simultaneously to protect his face from the battering wings and not injure the valuable animal. " _Immobulus_!" With a flick of her wand, Gustava froze both man and bird in place and pushed John further inside the motel room before closing the door behind her and adding " _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ ," toward the owl. The owl hovered in stillness, then floated over to the chair and settled back down. Gustava released the charms and sighed, hands on her hips. "What happened here?" 

Dean and Sam stared at her in confusion, both struck dumb by the open use of magic. "She's a witch," Dean breathed. "But... wait, that doesn't make sense. I've never seen anything about levitation spells. And witches don't use wands..."  

Gustava gave him a small smile, then sniffed the air and groan, "Oh, Susan, you couldn't wait? _Van fan_." She leaned over the recliner, waved her wand toward the mess and sighed, " _Tergeo_." She waved her wand methodically over the whitewashed carpet and chair until every bit of the owl's droppings were cleaned away. Dean and Sam watched her with wide eyes while their father sat on the bed, looking grumpy. “Can I have that?” she asked Sam, her voice low and full of a comforting, musical lilt. She held her hand out for the broken pull cord and when Sam gave it to her, she tapped it with her wand. “ _Reparo_.” It sprang up and reattached itself to the fan, good as new. “Now, where were we?" She looked up at the boys and smiled again.  

"Are you a witch?" Dean finally asked when he found his voice. "Like... the kind that kills people?" 

"No." Gustava gave John a long glare before continuing, "My people call themselves witches, but our definition of it is quite different from yours. Our magic is bound to genetic lines rather than bought with sacrifices and demonic influence. Our men are wizards and our women are witches." She took a moment to readjust Susan on the chair so the owl could extend her letter-bound leg again. "Dean, this is for you." 

Dean paused, then looked to his father. Questions bounced wildly inside his head: what should he should do? Was any of this real? Were they safe? John let out a huffed breath, but nodded. "Go ahead." 

His father’s assurance soothed him and Dean took a deep breath before reaching out and pulling the string tied around the owl's leg. The letter released and fluttered to the nappy upholstery of the recliner and Dean scooped it up. A heavy parchment envelope sat in his hand, sealed with a real wax seal and addressed to "Mr. Dean Winchester, Rte 4, Room #8, Hope, KS, United States of America." Baffled, Dean turned the letter a few times in his hands and read the return seal: "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." "What is this?" he asked. 

"Open it and see." Gustava glanced at John and Dean spotted a small smile exchanged between them. 

With a fingernail, Dean cracked the wax seal and opened the envelope, pulled out the folded papers within and shook them open. "Dear Mr. Winchester, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment as well as the details of the American scholarship we are prepared to offer you, should you decide to attend. Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress." He looked up at his father and the strange woman in front of him, then sat down on the bed very suddenly and very hard.  

While Dean was still rereading the letter, Sam leaned over and pulled the other two pages from his brother's numb fingers. "Dean, they say you're paid. The whole thing, you don't have to pay anything to go." He looked up, eyes shining in shock. "Dad, what is this? Why would they pay for Dean to go to school? Who are they?" 

Gustava sat down in the recliner with Susan swinging her tail to keep her balance behind the witch's head. "You're one of us, Dean. I went to school with your mother, Mary." She smiled at the shock on his face and Dean hugged the letter tightly. A bubble of emotion built in his chest and he had to swallow hard to keep the tears inside. He was never letting go of this letter. Never. "You've noticed that you make things happen sometimes, haven't you? Little things, when you're scared or angry? Closing a door or switching off a light." When Dean slowly nodded, her smile brightened, "That's your mother's blood showing. She was a gifted witch, Dean. She went to Hogwarts on this same scholarship when she was eleven." 

Dean sat on the bed, clutching his letter and trying to process everything this meant, his thoughts spinning through his head. After a few moments of silence, he felt Sam pressed up against his side. "What about Sam?" he asked then, looking up into Gustava's face, then to his father again. "If I go off to school, who takes care of Sammy?" 

John gave a soft, short laugh and shook his head, "I will, Dean." Dean gave his father a glare, one eyebrow raised and his lips quirked in a skeptical smile. John sighed and continued, "and if I need to go somewhere, he can stay with Uncle Bobby." Dean and Sam studied each other for a minute. "You don't have to go," John added. "You can if you want, but it's up to you, Dean." 

"Can I think about it?" Dean asked, his eyes never leaving his brother's face.  

"Of course," Gustava said gently. "You have until the end of July to make your decision. If you'd like, I can stay nearby to answer any questions you might have until then."  She stood up and collected Susan from the chair. "Are you planning to stay here for a while, John? If so, I'll arrange for a room." 

"Yes, I think so." John sat back on his bed, still watching his sons. "Thank you, Gus." 

"Thank you." She exited with a little bow to the boys and vanished out of sight toward the motel office. 

Silence reigned in the small room. Dean reread the letter, then handed it over to Sam to read while he reviewed the other papers that had come with it: a list of required books and equipment and the details of the American/British exchange scholarship. As Sam finished reading the letter and started it over again, John pulled the desk chair over to sit next to their bed. Dean finished the scholarship letter and offered it to his father without meeting his eyes. Together, they read and reread the paperwork, all keeping their thoughts to themselves for a long time. 

"Is she telling the truth?" Dean finally asked his father. He put the letter down in his lap and met his father's eyes squarely, searching.  

"She was one of your mother's bridesmaids," John confirmed in a soft voice. "She was at the funeral, though she stayed clear." He cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair. "I knew your mother had gone to school in Scotland for a while, a boarding school on a scholarship. And that all her bridesmaids were her school friends. She told me about the magic when we were first married, but she said she wasn't going to practice. She wanted to live like us, normal. She wanted..." he trailed off and swallowed hard to keep the emotion packed deeper. "She wanted a safe, normal life with her family." 

Dean hugged his knees to his chest and Sam put his head on his brother's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. "Is it dangerous? This wizarding thing?" 

"No more than what we're doing now," John shrugged. "At least, I don't think so." 

"Why did she want to give it up?" 

"She wouldn't say, exactly." John sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Gustava might be able to tell you, though." 

Dean and Sam looked at each other, then Dean asked, "What should I do, Dad?" 

"What do you want to do?" 

"I don't know." Dean collapsed in on himself and flopped sideways on the bed. "It's so big. I figured I'd just do what you do, y'know? I hate school anyway." 

John smiled, a sad tilt of his lips, and leaned forward again. "Dean, look at me." When Dean peeked up to meet his eyes, John swallowed his pride and his fear and all the emotions warring in him to fix his oldest son with a firm gaze. "Do what you want. I think your mother would have been overjoyed that you were accepted to the same scholarship program she was. She talked a lot about her school friends and how strong those friendships were, even after school. Gustava was one of her closest friends and I know that they can't hand-deliver every single letter like this. I asked her why she came and she said she missed seeing you. You can trust her, I think. She won't lie to you."  

Dean lay very still on the bed, searching his father's eyes. Finally, he nodded, "Okay. I'll think about it." He felt Sam shifting on the bed and leaned back to smile at his brother. "What do you think, Sammy?" 

"I want to go with you." The younger boy rest his chin on Dean's shoulder with a gusty sigh. "This sounds so awesome. I want to go, too." 

"Maybe you will," John said. Both of them looked up and John gave a quick, strained smile. "If Sam ends up with the same kinds of magical accidents that Dean's been having, they might offer you the same thing when you're eleven." 

"But that's five years away!" Sam protested with a pout. 

"Just think, though," Dean grinned and hugged his brother. "By then, I'll know all the cool places to hide and the best places to find snacks when nobody's looking. I'll know everything about the place by the time you get there. We'll have a blast. Hoggles won't know what hit it." 

"Hogwarts," Sam giggled.  

"Whatever." Dean looked up at his father with a bright smile. "I think I wanna go now. If Sam's coming, too, it'll be fun." 

"And you can come home for Christmas and summer breaks," John added. "It's only part of the year and we'll be together after that." 

"Cool." Dean flopped back on the bed, that same smile still on his face while Sam bounced up to read the letter again. "Yeah... I think this could be fun." 

 

*** 

 

Gustava settled into her room in the motel. They had been very firm: no pets allowed. She had left Susan to fend for herself for a while, much to the owl's irritation and indignation. Stretched out on the single bed, Gustava turned the events of the morning over in her mind.  

She could see Mary in Dean's face. She closed her eyes with a sigh and felt the deep pang of losing her friend again. They had been so close, she and Lily and Mary. Almost as close as James and Sirius and Peter and Remus. Losing her had been like having her heart ripped out of her chest. It had been hard enough watching her choose a Muggle (even a handsome one like John) over the wizarding world, but to find out she had died, so suddenly and so violently, leaving behind her heartbroken husband and her two babies... Gustava would have been there for John if he had let her, but he had withdrawn from all of Mary's friends, denied everything and run deep into the American Muggle wilderness. Watching that happen from afar had gutted Gustava and there had been essentially nothing she could do. 

She had worked. She had protected the people she could. She argued with Dumbledore over his decisions about Harry, about the Winchesters, about everything that mattered to her and usually had to be comforted by McGonagall with tea and biscuits later. 

But what nobody had really understood was that Gustava had lost more than just friends. She had lost BOTH of her best friends. The girls who had giggled with her about crushes late into the night. The girls who had called her in ecstasy when their husbands proposed. The girls whose children she had held while she conjured smoke pictures to tell stories.  

She had lost everything. Voldemort had stolen Lily and James from her. John had stolen Dean and Sam. Dumbledore had stolen Harry.  

And the Death Eaters had stolen Mary.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack...

Once Dean had made the decision to attend Hogwarts, waiting became excruciating. Gustava agreed to stay and travel along with them to answer any questions John or the boys might have about the wizarding world until it was time to return to the school for classes. She also arranged for a flight to London and a shopping trip to cover Dean's school supplies, much to John's flustered embarrassment. 

When Dean and Sam were exclaiming over the merits of a owl, a toad, or a cat, John pulled Gustava to the side. "You don't have to pay for his supplies, Gus."

Gustava raised an eyebrow at him and smiled, tucking her chin to avoid his gaze. "I know. But I'm the next best thing to a fairy godmother right now. I might as well act the part." 

"Why would I want a toad?" Dean asked, the disgust in his voice almost pungent. "I think an owl would be pretty cool."

"At least get a cat," Sam protested. "Cats are pretty bad-ass."

"Until they're upchucking hairballs all over your bed."

Gustava watched the two boys arguing and her smile widened. Their voices reminded her of Mary and Lily arguing about the best way to handle a  _ Proteus _ charm. Her heart ached from missing her friends, then John cleared his throat and she jumped, pulled out of her thoughts by his nearness. "I'm serious, Gus. I've got a little money socked away. Had it for when the boys might start thinking about college, but this is still school."

"I'm serious, too." Gustava took a half a step away from him to give herself some breathing room. John had just gotten out of a shower and still smelled of aftershave and hotel soap. "I'm the closest thing they have to a godmother, John, now that Lily and James are gone. Let me spoil him a little bit. Please?" She gave him a shy smile, which made him return it with a twist of his lips. "Besides, it's not like my kids are going to Hogwarts."

John snorted softly, "If you want to spoil him, just make sure I don't have to see or hear it, okay? I'll send money with him for his supplies and if he doesn't spend it, more's the better." He paused and leaned against the worn paneling of the hotel room, watching the boys with his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you have kids?" 

Gustava turned her head slightly to bring him into her peripheral vision, trying to tell if he was serious or joking. "No." She shifted her feet and examined a speck of dust on her blouse, flicking it away with a nervous gesture of her fingers. "I saw how well it worked out for Lily and Mary and thought I'd be better off avoiding the population increase." The silence that rolled away from John was tight with angry heat and Gustava knew she had pushed him too far. She collected herself and strode toward the door, "I'll be next door if anyone needs me."

"Right." John nearly spat the word after her and Gustava slipped out of the motel room without the boys even noticing. 

When the door clicked shut, John felt all the anger slide out of him and he slumped against the wall, hands over his face. He stayed like that until he heard the boys' voices starting to taper off, like maybe they were starting to notice Gustava's absence, so he put himself back together and looked up. His sons weren't used to having a woman around and he himself had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, Gustava's alienness was both intriguing and frightening. On the other, she was a very attractive woman with a powerful personality that challenged and infuriated him by turns. And the world she came from was utterly beyond anything he really understood. John both wanted to understand because Mary had belong there and now, it seemed, so did Dean. And it was the world that had formed Gustava as well. To say he wasn't attracted to Gus would have been lying to himself. But there was still grief in him over Mary and a bitter stubbornness to stay true to her memory until he had finished his quest for revenge. 

Be that as it may, he couldn't help but consider following her next door, knocking, telling her that he needed her. Taking her narrow face in his hands and kissing her lips, feeling her pale, smooth skin under his rough fingers, watching her pale eyes darken as her pupils grew. He wondered what her hair smelled like, what her skin tasted like. Would she be icy cold to the touch, since she seemed to prefer the room temperature so low?

"Dad?" Dean's voice jolted John out of his reverie and he shook his head to clear it. 

"Yeah?" John responded and cleared his throat when he heard the roughness there. "What's up?"

"Where'd Gustava go?"

"Next door," he said. 

"Did you piss each other off again?" Sam asked. The younger boy was lying on his back on the bedspread, his head dangling over the side of the bed with his hair spreading toward the floor with gravity, an inverse butterfly of sandy blonde. 

John gave his younger son a mute stare, then sighed and shook his head, "Something like that."

"What's it about this time?" Dean said, throwing his hands up slightly in a gesture that reminded John of how Mary had gotten when she was exasperated. "She lighting candles the wrong way? Or did the owl shit on the car again?"

"I'm just not comfortable with her paying for your school supplies, that's all." John sighed and chewed his thumbnail. Saying it aloud made him realize how petulant his complaint sounded. "The school is already paying your room, board, and tuition. I just don't want anyone to think you're getting favoritism just because Gustava knew your mother. She could get in trouble for something like that."

Dean sighed and put his hands on his hips. "If she's at risk, that’s her problem, isn’t it? You know she flew here, right? On a broom? Invisible. If she wants to risk her job by paying for some books and stuff, don't you think she knows what she's doing?"

John floundered for a moment, then took a deep breath and glared at Dean, "I'm not sure I like your tone." Both of his sons looked at each other with expressions somewhere between resignation and irritation and Dean backed down, flopping backwards onto the bed. It occurred to John that his "dad" voice was a little transparent at the moment, since they had just seen him worrying about Gustava's well being. But they'd given him control back of the situation and that was good enough for now.

 

***

 

“What do you think of Gustava?” Dean asked that evening when their father was in the shower. The boys were flopped out on the bed they had been sharing, flipping channels on the ancient television. 

“I like her,” Sam replied. “It’s fun to watch her mess with Dad because he can’t do anything about it.” He paused and sighed, “and she doesn’t talk to me like I’m a little kid. She talks to me like I matter.”

“You do matter, dummy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean fell silent with a small smile and flipped over another channel, bypassing another shopping network. “I want to go. I think it’s gonna be awesome. I mean, going all the way to another country? And learning magic that doesn’t suck out my soul? That’s pretty damn cool.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Sam said in a small voice.

Dean looked over at his little brother and pulled him into a hug. “I’m gonna miss you, too.” They sat like that for a minute, then Dean let him go and sniffed, “But it’s not for a while yet. Couple of weeks.”

“I still think you should get a cat.”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

“You are not. You just don’t like them.”

“All the more reason to not get a cat.”

 

***

 

John made a face at the newspaper and folded it around itself to circle a small news blurb. “I need to go check this out.” 

Gustava leaned across the table and raised her eyebrow slowly. “That’s two states away, John. Are you going to leave the boys here? Or take them with you?” Dean and Sam exchanged nervous looks and resumed picking at their pancakes and bacon.

“Take them with me,” John said, looking irritated. “Why?”

Instead of answering immediately, Gustava pulled the newspaper to herself and read the article aloud, “Reward for information regarding crop fire.” She looked at John and raised that same eyebrow in a slow arch. “Crop fires? This wouldn’t have to do with the cattle mutilations two counties over, would it?”

John looked surprised. “How did…”

“I read, too.” She handed him the paper. “If there’s danger there, shouldn’t the boys stay somewhere safe?”

John’s expression darkened and Sam slouched in his seat. “They will. In a hotel.”

“Alone.”

“Fucking yes, alone!” He stood up sharply and stomped away from the table. When Gustava didn’t stand up to follow him, he stormed back and crooked a finger at her irritably. “Could I talk to you for a second, Gus?” She looked at the boys, then back up at him, her eyebrow both raised in a polite, questioning expression. “Alone,” he growled.

Gustava stood up from the table and followed him outside the diner, her hands folded neatly behind her back and her head tilted to the side attentively. “Yes?”

“Don’t fucking question me in front of my kids.”

“You’re the one who brought up the article,” Gustava reminded him calmly.

John glared at her and raised a finger to point at her. “You know what I mean. I need them to trust me and if you keep asking these questions--”

Gustava’s lip curled and she smacked his hand down and away from her face. “I will question you when I feel like your judgement should be in question, John Winchester. You will simply have to learn to cope with that. And I believe that your eleven-year-old and six-year-old sons should not be left alone in a motel somewhere while their father risks his life chasing wild chickens.”

“Wild…” John blinked. “What?”

Gustava paused, obviously flustered. “Is that not…  _ fek _ .” She turned away and thought hard for a second, then popped back up into his face, finger pointed, “Geese. Wild geese.” John stared at her and then his eyes sparkled as he tried not to laugh at her. Gustava’s lips pressed together in mingled anger and embarrassment and she snapped, “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“Sorry,” he coughed, running a hand over his mouth to set it again. “This isn’t a wild goose chase, Gus. There’s a pattern to this shit with whatever killed Mary. I’ve been following the pattern for years. I’m going to find it.” His jaw tightened and he added in a low voice, “No more nursery fires.”

Gustava chewed her lip for a moment, then said softly, “John… you’re not the only one who loved her, you know.”

“I haven’t seen you hunting for her killer.”

Her eyes flashed and John backed up a step, surprised by the intensity of her stare and the way her hair seemed to float out and away from her face when she was truly angry. “Because I haven’t been sticking my head in a hole of my own grief, you arrogant American Muggle asshole. If you’d been looking in the right places, you would have seen me.” Before he had a chance to say anything, she turned away and stomped back toward the motel.

Stunned and uncertain, John walked back inside the diner to find his boys both huddled near the door, trying to listen. He glared at them and Dean tried to give him a small, sheepish smile. “Go finish breakfast,” he growled and both boys tumbled over themselves to return to the food. He watched them eat for a while, picking at his own toast and drinking the coffee whenever the waitress refilled his mug while Gustava’s remaining oatmeal grew cold.

“What did she mean, Dad?” Dean chased a piece of pancake around his plate without looking. “About looking in the right places?”

“I don’t know.” John glared at the greasy skim on the surface of his coffee. “I suppose it means she knows something about your mom’s death that I don’t.” He glanced into Dean’s face and frowned. “I guess I never considered that it could be connected to that wizard stuff.” He shook his head quickly. “Finish your breakfast. We’ve got to pack up if I’m going to catch up with this lead.”

 

***

 

Shortly after nightfall, Gustava appeared in the road half a mile ahead of him, enough time for him to see her, identify her, and slow down so he didn’t hit her. She repeated this maneuver four times, at which point John got the message and finally pulled the Impala over to the shoulder. “What?” he snapped at her as he rolled down the window.

“You need to rest.” 

He glared at her. “I fucking well do not. I’m fine.”

“You’re drifting.” She leaned on the door and glared at him. “Don’t make me spell you.”

“If you can spell me to stay awake, that might not be so bad.”

Gustava snorted, “They’re not healthy. We all do it during exams, but that’s for kids, John. Take a break and let me drive for a while. You don’t have to stop, just rest.”

John stared at her and tilted his head, trying to stifle the yawn that was threatening to betray him. “You want to drive?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how?”

Gustava rolled her eyes. “Get out of the damn car, Winchester.”

Looking impressed, he climbed out as she stood back, then circled around to climb into the passenger seat while Gustava slipped her broom into the back seat and got behind the wheel. John watched as she adjusted the seat, checked her mirrors and adjusted them accordingly, then signaled politely and pulled back onto the highway. He settled into the seat and watched her for a little while as she drove. “Okay, so you can drive.”

“Not every wizard is stubbornly dependant on magic,” she informed him coolly. “I actually rather enjoy driving. And this is a beautiful car.”

“She is that,” John smiled fondly. 

In the back seat, Dean popped up over the center console with a long yawn. “Where’s Susan?”

“She doesn’t ride well,” Gustava smiled at him. “She’ll meet us there.”

“How does she know where we’re going?”

“Owls who have spent enough time with wizards pick up a few tricks here and there,” Gustava said. “Minor magics, that sort of thing.”

“I’m so getting an owl.” Dean’s eyes sparkled and John glanced at him with a grin.

“You’re so getting some sleep first,” he said and put his palm in the middle of Dean’s forehead, pushing him back into the back seat. 

“I’m not tired,” protested his son, but Dean didn’t resist the movement and curled up in the seat again.

“You are so,” John paused, glanced at Gustava out of the corner of his eye, and admitted, “and so am I.” She didn’t look at him, but a smile curled her lips. He shifted in the seat and wedged himself between the headrest and the window. “Just don’t miss the exit for Denver.”

“I won’t,” she said softly.

John and Dean both smiled as they drifted off to sleep to the sounds of car tires on the road and the soft, lilting sound of Gustava’s voice as she hummed to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam hadn’t let go of Dean for almost an hour while they were still together at the airport. Gustava was busy getting Dean’s paperwork sorted out for the flight and John sat watching the boys in the waiting area of the small Kansas airport. He still couldn’t believe he was letting his oldest son fly across the ocean to go to school for magic, of all things. And in the company of a woman he didn’t know very well.

A woman whose eyes were sometimes a crystal blue and sometimes looked blue-black without visible whites at all. A woman who spoke to an owl like it was a confidant. A woman who seemed to suck the warmth right out of the air when she was angry and burned with a cold unlike anything he had ever experienced. A woman who he badly wanted to kiss like he’d kissed her once, years ago, as a joke to piss her off. Only now he wanted to kiss her for real. 

John groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, then through his hair until it stood up crazily from his scalp. “Dammit.”

That one kiss had happened on the porch of Bobby Singer’s house in South Dakota, maybe a year after Mary’s death. Gustava had literally appeared in Bobby’s kitchen and almost gotten herself shot, all because she wanted to see Dean for his birthday. John remembered arguing with her, doing everything he could to insult her into leaving. When she had finally stormed out of the house, he had followed her to the porch and… it had just happened. He had tried so hard to laugh it off, saying it was for her own good and she needed to let off some steam. But the truth was still too close to the surface: seeing her righteous anger was one of the sexiest things he’d seen. Period. Full stop. The shame of that realization had made any further conversations with her nearly impossible and she had finally stopped bothering him to visit the boys when he threatened to shoot her the next time he saw her. It was the only way to get her to go away.

He hated seeing her. He hated not knowing what to do with her. She was fire and ice and that one kiss had ripped his soul in half. John closed his eyes and let his head hang.

“Well,” Gustava’s voice drifted to him and he looked up again, “here you are, young man.” She handed Dean a passport and John smiled at the look of awe on his son’s face. “All ready to go. Speaking of which.” She looked up at John. “We should probably get through security. They’ll be boarding us soon.”

John sighed and stood up while Sam wrapped himself tightly around Dean’s waist, trying not to cry. “Thank you,” John said to Gustava quietly. “For everything.”

“Of course,” she smiled at him. “Take care of yourself, John. And of Sam. I’ll make sure Dean remembers to write you.” She turned away to pick up her carry-on bag and John flexed his fingers, stifling the urge to reach for her. “If you need Susan to carry anything for you,” she added as she stood up again to face him, “stand outside and break this.” She held out a small twig with a twist of black hair tied around one end. “She likes liver, also.”

John reached out and took the twig, looking at it in puzzlement. “This looks like local witch magic.”

“No blood or bodily fluids involved,” smiled Gustava. “Just a little hair.”

John lifted it and twisted it so the hair fluttered. “Yours?”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded, expression curious. “Yes. Why?”

“No reason.” John looked away and pushed the twig into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

Sam had finally broken down and was sobbing into Dean’s shoulder while his brother hugged him and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “C’mon, Sammy, it’s not like I’m gonna be gone forever. Just a few months.” When the adults looked at him, he cleared his throat and looked quickly in the other direction. John smiled and glanced at Gustava, who was also looking quietly amused: they’d both seen the tears in the older boy’s eyes, too.

“It’s time,” Gustava said gently and put her hand on Dean’s shoulder. He looked up at her and sniffed, wiping his face. He hugged Sam one more time, then looked back at John. 

The look on his face broke John’s heart and he dropped down to his knees, holding out his arms. Dean rushed into his hug and they clung to each other for a second. Sam followed his brother into the hug with a little sob and John pulled the little boy close. “You’re going to have so much fun,” he whispered to Dean, trying to swallow his own tears, “and learn so much. Your mom would be so damn proud of you, son. I know I am.” He pulled back to look his son in the face. When Dean sniffled, John smiled and kissed his son on the forehead. “Go on. Gus is waiting and you don’t want to miss your flight.”

Dean stood up and wiped at his face, trying not to let his lip tremble. He nodded, turned toward Gustava, then turned right back to hug John around the neck tightly. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too,” John whispered, hugging him. When he let go again, Sam rushed in for another quick hug and then Dean stood back, spine straight and face set into an expression of determination. John pulled Sam back into his arms so the younger boy wouldn’t try to follow and put a smile on for Dean as they headed off through the security gates. 

Before they were gone, though, Gustava touched Dean on the shoulder and whispered something before returning. “He’s in good hands, John,” she said softly. “Don’t worry.”

“I know.” He stayed where he was, kneeling in the lobby with his arms around Sam. He found he couldn’t actually look up at her right now and just wished she’d get on the plane already. “Have a good trip, Gus.”

She stayed where she was for a moment, then knelt in front of him and reached to touch Sam’s face. “Sammy,” she said. “You don’t have to be sad. You’ll see Dean again soon.” 

To John’s surprise, Sam threw his arms around Gustava’s neck and hugged her tightly. “I’m gonna miss you, too,” he sobbed.

Gustava’s face went utterly still and she looked up at John over Sam’s shoulder, obviously shocked as she finally put her arms up to hug the little boy. John watched as her eyes slipped closed and something like pain crossed her face. “I’m going to miss you, too, Sam,” she said. “I…” she swallowed hard and kissed the top of his head lightly, “I wish your mother were here to see you. She would be so proud.” Suddenly, she patted Sam on the shoulder and stood up, an almost abrupt movement that left the little boy clinging to her waist for a second before he fell back against John’s chest. “I’ll keep in touch, John,” she said and turned quickly back to the security queue, her stride focused and swift.

“Did I do something wrong?” Sam asked his father in a small voice.

“No, Sammy,” John smiled and hugged him. “I think Gus just isn’t used to being missed.”

 

***

 

Dean pressed his face against the window of the airplane, watching as his father and his little brother waved to him from the airport’s big windows. Everything felt like it was going so incredibly fast and he tried to keep the bubble of fear and grief pushed deep inside. Beside him, Gustava put a hand on his arm and leaned toward the window. Dean looked up in time to see her smile and wave out the window. “How are you doing?” she murmured to him softly.

“Scared,” he admitted. “I’ve never flown before.”

“You’ll be fine,” she smiled kindly and stroked his hair. “Just tell me if it gets too much and I’ll try to help.”

“Okay.” Dean settled back in his seat as the airplane taxied toward its departure point. As they picked up speed, he could feel his heart starting to hammer in his chest and he shrank down, fingers tight on the armrests. When the plane jerked up into the air, he tried to suppress a little squeak of fear. “Gus?”

Her hand touched the back of his hand and Dean heard her whisper something in another language. Immediately, the panic faded into the back of his mind and he could breath more easily. “Better?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat and let his head rest against the back of the seat. “A lot better. What was that?”

“Calming spell,” Gustava smiled. 

“Can you teach me?”

She ducked her head and her smile widened. “No, Dean. Not yet. There’s a lot you need to learn still before you’re ready for some of these spells. At the very least, you’ll need a wand.”

“You didn’t use one.”

“No,” she agreed with a grin, “but I’ve been doing this a little bit longer than you have.”

Dean sank into himself to consider this, looking out the window as the clouds dropped away below them. He did feel so much calmer than he had, like there was nothing to be afraid of. He explored the feeling and discovered that it was just the calm: he was still sad about leaving Dad and Sam behind, still scared about going to a whole different country. But the fear of flying was tucked into a little pocket in his mind. After a while, he leaned back to Gustava and whispered, “Is there anything you can teach me?”

She grinned at him and leaned her forehead against his in a playful conspiratory bump. “Most of what I could teach you easily here is going to be boring, Dean. And as a minor, it’s actually illegal for you to practice magic away from school.”

“Illegal doesn’t bother me,” Dean snorted and she chuckled.

“But I’m a teacher and being complicit in your crimes could lose me my position.” She reached over and ruffled his hair. “You are your mother’s son.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Gustava’s smile was wistful, but warm. “Oh, yes. Do you want to hear about her?” Dean nodded eagerly and leaned closer. “Your mother was in one of the other houses. She and Lily were in Gryffindor and I was in Ravenclaw. We met during one of the free periods in the great hall. They were already friends, but they saw me sitting by myself and asked me to sit with them.” She shrugged with a smile. “They were both wonderful people, kind and friendly and smart. Popular, for that matter. Mary broke a lot of hearts at Hogwarts when she married your father.” 

Something in Gustava’s tone made Dean look up and her eyes were watching out the window, but she blinked and smiled at him again. “She was fierce. A wonderful friend. She always had an ear if you needed to talk and a fist ready to even the odds if there was a fight. She startled a lot of wizards during duels, too. She taught me how to throw a punch.”

Dean tilted his head. “Is that not a usual thing?”

“Not for wizards,” she grinned. “Our duels are usually with wands and spells only. But Mary was never afraid to throw a punch or a kick if it got her an advantage in a fight.” Gustava propped her chin in her hand for a second, thinking. “She was a talented flier, too. Not good enough for the house Quidditch team, but she played pick up Quidditch with us. Great Keeper.”

“I don’t think I understand any of that,” Dean admitted and Gustava laughed.

“It’ll make sense soon enough. Quidditch is the wizarding world’s favorite sport. And your mom loved to play.” Gustava put her chin in her hand to study him. “You’ve got her spirit, I think. From what I’ve seen, you stick up for those who can’t defend themselves.”

“That’s more Sam’s thing,” Dean said uncomfortably, looking out the window. “I just do what Dad tells me.”

“ _ Skitsnack _ ,” she chuckled.

“What?” laughed Dean.

“ _ Skitsnack _ ,” she repeated with a grin. “It’s Swedish for bullshit.”

Dean beamed. “See, there’s something you can teach me!”

 

***

 

John stared quietly at Sam while his younger son curled in his lap, dozing while they watched TV. With a long sigh, he hugged the little boy closer and closed his eyes. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t leave Sam alone. He didn’t want to send him away, too. He couldn’t take him hunting yet; he was just too young still. 

Not having Dean in the motel room made everything feel different. John and Sam had never been by themselves before. He had always had the older boy as a buffer between himself and the son whose nursery had burned with Mary on the ceiling. Sam shifted and John rubbed his back as the little boy pushed his face into his father’s shirt. “Ready for bed, bud?” he murmured in Sam’s ear. 

“No,” Sam whined and tried to bury a yawn in John’s shirt. 

John smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Go brush your teeth and change.”

Reluctantly, Sam slipped down to the floor and rummaged his pajamas out of the bag before staggering off towards the bathroom to obey. John watched him until the door closed and the let his face drop into his hands. In spite of himself, he missed Gustava almost as much as he missed Dean. The three weeks she’d spent traveling with them hadn’t made it any easier to be around her, but he had gotten accustomed to having another adult around. Someone else to drive the car while he slept. Someone else to bounce ideas off of. Someone… 

He shook his head sharply to dispel the thought. The last thing John needed right now was to get tangled up in his head over someone so perfectly inaccessible. He changed and dodged Sam as his son wandered back out, surrendering the bathroom so John could brush his teeth. When he looked back out, Sam had curled up in the center of the second bed, looking tiny and lonely in the queen-sized space. “You gonna be okay, bud?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was tiny, too. 

John spit and rinsed, then came back out and sat on the edge of Sam’s bed. “You don’t have to sleep alone if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” Sam insisted, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

John stroked his hair back from his face and smiled. “You sure?” When Sam nodded a little too hard, he leaned forward to kiss his son’s forehead. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

Sam lunged and hugged John around the neck. “I miss Dean.”

“Me, too,” John sighed, hugging him back. “But he’ll write and we can write to him. It’ll be different for a while, but then he’ll be back for Christmas.” He rubbed Sam’s back. “It’ll be okay.”

“Are you gonna send me to Uncle Bobby’s?”

John closed his eyes and rested his chin on his son’s shoulder for a second. “Maybe for a little while. You’ll be safe there.”

“I wanna stay with you.”

“I know, bud.” 

“Why can’t I just stay with you?”

“Because it’s dangerous and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sam leaned back to look seriously at his father. “If I could get hurt, couldn’t you?”

John chewed his lip, then looked down. “That’s always possible.”

“Don’t go.” Sam tackled him hard and John leaned back, pulling his son with him. “Don’t go, Dad. We’ll both go to Uncle Bobby’s and be safe.” John clenched his jaw tight against the threat of tears and just hugged the boy harder. “Please?”

“Maybe for a while,” John finally whispered. 

He could feel tears running down his neck as Sam clung to him. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Family sticks together,” he whispered back. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Professor!” a cheerful voice reached them as they disembarked in London. Gustava looked up and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder protectively. The young man who approached them was about seventeen and Dean watched him carefully from around Gustava’s hip. He was dressed in powder-blue tuxedo pants and a tweed suit jacket over a plaid button-down shirt, topped off by a backwards baseball cap. “Professor Dumbledore sent me to collect you.”

“It’s good to see you, Bruce,” Gustava sighed, studying his attire. “Have you been doing your reading this summer?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied quickly and looked down, before looking up again sheepishly. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“You look like a clown,” Dean informed him.

Gustava chuckled. “Bruce Haverford, this is Dean Winchester, one of our new exchange students this year. Dean, Bruce is one of my advanced Muggle Studies students.”

“What’s a Muggle?” Dean asked as he shook Bruce’s hand. “I heard you call Dad that a few times and it didn’t sound good.”

“A Muggle is someone without magical inclination,” Bruce supplied with a grin, glancing at Gustava who was studiously looking somewhere else. “It isn’t the most flattering term, I suppose, but we don’t usually use it as a slur.”

“Usually,” Gustava muttered under her breath, “ _men om korrekt_ …”

“It doesn’t work to speak in Swedish if the word’s a cognate, Professor.”

“I can still decide to fail you for last year, Haverford.”

Bruce looked chagrined. “I did get pretty close, didn’t I?”

“Painfully.” She looked down at Dean and smiled. “Let’s get your trunks and see about arranging some transport. It’s traditional for students to take the train, especially their first year. We can get your bags to a storage location at the train station and then look at doing some of that supply shopping your father doesn’t want to know about.”

Dean practically bounced after them as they collected his suitcases and piled them into a cart, then Gustava walked next to him as they followed Bruce from the building. “They didn’t give you a car again, did they?” she asked the student nervously.

“How did you know?” Bruce replied, beaming. “Dumbledore said I was best qualified.”

“ _Tja, knulla mig._ ” Gustava just shook her head and followed. Dean giggled, one hand over his mouth. He’d learned enough on the flight over to get a rough idea of what she’d said and it wasn’t at all polite. From the insulted expression on Bruce’s face, he’d learned enough Swedish to know, too.

When they reached the car, Gustava took one look at the machine and held out her hand. “Keys, Haverford. Now.”

“What?” he cried, deflating.

“I will not allow you to drive this magnificent vehicle without further training. I know how you fly, Bruce. I’m sure as HELL not letting you drive.” She held her hand out with a more emphatic movement. “Keys.” When the student surrendered his keys, Gustava made a little shooing motion with her hands. “You’re welcome to return to school, Bruce. I am quite capable of guiding Dean from here. And I’ll enjoy the drive far more alone.”

“I’m taking the train,” Bruce sighed. “I didn’t pass the Apparation test again. I did wonder why Professor Dumbledore gave me an Express ticket before I left…”

“I’ll see you in class, Bruce.”

“See ya. Nice to meet you, Dean.” He trooped off and Dean watched him go, head tilted.

“Are all wizards as weird as him?”

“Most of them,” Gustava admitted as she got into the car and started the engine. She sighed at the sound of the engine, leaning her head back against the headrest. “Dumbledore, _din jävel. Du kan inte tvinga mig_.” When she caught Dean watching her curiously, she shook her head and smiled. “Get in. Make yourself at home.”

Dean slipped into the passenger seat and grinned, running his hands over the familiar dash. “I didn’t know they made Impalas for driving on the left side. It feels so weird to be sitting on this side.”

Gustava grinned, listening to the Impala purr. “Dumbledore knows my preference for American cars. I’m sure he wanted to make sure you were comfortable coming in, as well. Buckle in and let’s go shopping.”

***

“Welcome to Diagon Alley.” Gustava watched Dean’s face with a contented feeling in her chest. That look of wonder would never get old. She let him rush ahead of her and peer into shop windows. Her first order of business was to stop at the bank to exchange John’s funds to wizard coinage for Dean, as well as to withdraw some of her own funds. But for now, she was happy to watch her best friend’s oldest son run wild through a new world.

“Gus!” he cried back at her, his face lit up. He pointed through one window and she came up beside him to look. “Is that…?”

“Yes, it’s a racing broom,” she grinned.

“Can I get one?”

“First years can’t have them,” she sighed and patted his back. “Besides, you don’t know how to fly yet. Then we can talk about it.”

Dean looked back at her through his lashes, expression sly. “With Dad?”

Gustava’s lips twitched. “What your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” At Dean’s brilliant smile, she grinned and pulled him back to the center of the lane. “I take it the idea of flying is growing on you?”

“Nothing happened on the way here, either parts of the flight,” Dean said and shrugged. “I don’t like flying in a big metal coffin. But the idea of zipping around on a broom? It’s like a motorcycle!”

Gustava smiled. “I suppose it is. Also an aspect your father doesn’t need to hear about.”

“Dad doesn’t mind motorcycles,” Dean protested.

“Every cyclist becomes a worrier when it’s their child on the cycle.”

Dean thought about that for a moment, then shrugged, acquiescing. “So, if I can’t get a broom, what can I get?”

“What does your list say?” Gustava asked. She smiled as he read aloud the familiar list of first year equipment and books, remembering her own first year shopping in Diagon Alley. Her mother gripping her by the hand. Her uncle peeking out of alleys, too afraid to show himself openly. Her little sister clinging to her robes. She shook the memory away and refocused on Dean, who had stopped in front of Ollivander’s. “Best wands in the world,” she smiled fondly.

“Are they expensive?” Dean asked and rocked back and forth on his toes, nervous.

“A little,” admitted Gustava. “But it’s one of the most important things you’ll buy as a wizard. Most wizards only ever buy one in their lifetimes. Some hand them down within families.” She smiled quietly, letting her own fall into her hand from its place in her sleeve. “Here’s mine.”

Dean studied it carefully. “It looks like birch?”

Impressed, she nodded, “White paper birch. How did you know?”

He shrugged, “Just looked like it. Like the white birches in Wisconsin and Michigan?”

Again, Gustava nodded. “They’re common in Scandinavia, too. Most of my family have birch wands.”

Dean blinked up at her. “Your family are all wizards?”

“Most of them,” she smiled. “Only a handful of us are classically trained, but they’ve all got some level of talent. Some of them can only light candles or move pencils around, though. My sister wasn’t strong enough to attend school, but she’s very talented with animals. They innately trust her, so she attended a Muggle veterinary program. She lives in Glasgow now.”

“What’s her name?” Dean asked curiously.

“Lisa,” Gustava smiled warmly to think of her sister. “Anyway. Would you like to go in and talk to Mr. Ollivander?” When he nodded, she smiled and opened the door for him, waiting. He slipped in under her arm and they walked together into the stuffy, dusty little shop.

“Gustava, my dear,” smiled the odd little wandmaker. He came down from his perch on a ladder to kiss her on the cheek. “How lovely to see you.”

“And you, Mr. Ollivander,” she smiled back, returning the embrace. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for coffee recently. I’ve been overseas.”

“Recruiting,” he nodded, peering down at Dean through his thick glasses. “Mary Campbell’s son, aren’t you?”

Dean stared up at him, then slowly nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Ash, ten and a half inches, very elegant wand with a unicorn core, as I recall.” He turned back to the stacks of boxes. “A shame at its loss.”

Dean looked up at Gustava, his face stricken and she pulled him into a quick hug. “He means her, too,” she whispered to him. “He speaks about wands as if they’re the same as the people who owned them. He disapproves of passing down family wands for that reason. They’re all unique and no wand will suit you like a wand that chooses you.”

When Ollivander returned, he put several boxes on the counter. His expression seemed to take in Gustava’s face as well as Dean’s before he added in a soft voice, “She was a remarkable woman, your mother. Her wand was no different.” He returned to studying the boxes, then pulled one aside and opened it. “Hazel and dragon heartstring. Good weight, good length.” He extended the wand to Dean, who took it obediently.

“Wave it,” Gustava grinned softly, showing him the motion without using her own wand.

Dean’s face was perplexed, but he obeyed, flicking the wand in a motion similar to Gustava’s hand motion. A thin stream of steam issued from the end of the wand with a pained sound like a teakettle. “Not this one,” Ollivander confirmed, sweeping it away and handing Dean another. “Oak and unicorn, from one of our local unicorns no less. Accepted her donations myself.” When the wand turned purple and green with sickly lesions, Ollivander snatched it back with a wounded glare at Dean. “No! Goodness, no.” This continued for a while until Ollivander finally collected his boxes and returned them all to the wall with a sigh. “Perhaps you would be best suited looking at another wand maker’s shop, Mr. Winchester.”

“What about that one?” Dean asked suddenly, nodding toward the wall.

“Which one?” Ollivander asked, surprised.

Before either of the adults could stop him, Dean hopped over the counter, wheeled the ladder over to one bank of boxes and climbed two thirds of the way to the ceiling, reaching until he had a box in his hand. He read the outside aloud: “Rowan. Eight and three quarter inches. Dragon heartstring.” When he looked down at Ollivander, the man shrugged and Dean opened the box. Immediately, there was a brilliant golden light that flowed down his arm and made his hair stand on end. “Uh… I think I like this one.”

“Try waving it,” Gustava grinned brightly up at him.

Dean did and the wand exploded in sparks like a roman candle. “Whoo!!” he cheered excitedly and slid down the ladder. “Yes. I like this wand!”

“Interesting,” Ollivander mused, taking the box and the wand to investigate. “I have had this wand for a very, very long time, Mr. Winchester.” He paused for a second, then smiled, “My father made it for my sister. But she never showed aptitude. I never thought I would find it’s match, but… as you say, you like it. And it certainly likes you.” He nodded once, then packed the wand back into tissues inside the box, wrapped it up and handed across the counter while Gustava paid him for it. “May you give each other much joy,” Ollivander said.

As they returned to the street, Gustava glanced over her shoulder toward Ollivander through the window. “When he says he’s had that wand for a long time… I think his father was contemporary to Pliny the Elder.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” She shook her head and they went on to buy his books and supplies. When they’d gotten through most of the list, Gustava angled toward the bank. “I’m almost out of ready cash, Dean. And we can change your father’s money into wizard currency so you have something to spend at school.” As they stood in line, she added, “Do you want to open an account? You could leave some of that here and get a little interest.”

“I guess.” Dean squirmed, obviously uncomfortable with the bills in his hand. “How much do you think I’ll need at school?”

“You can probably get by with ten or twelve galleons,” she told him. “That’s a little more than fifty dollars American. It will let you buy some snacks on the train and odds and ends around the school. Your food is all covered with room and board, even snacks.” She studied him for a minute, then grinned. “You’ve never seen so much cash in one place before, have you?”

“No!” Dean whispered, blushing. “I can’t believe Dad just gave it to me.”

“You’re fine, Dean,” she smiled and hugged him around the shoulders. “Take ten galleons and deposit the rest. If you need more while we’re at school, ask me and I’ll loan you some.”

When they were finished at the bank, they resumed their wander through the world. Gustava steered Dean to one of the cafes and they had lunch, watching the wizards and witches going by. “Are all the kids here shopping for Hogwarts?” Dean asked curiously.

“Most of them,” Gustava nodded. “It’s the big weekend before the beginning of term, so all the last minute shoppers are here.” She paused with her coffee mug halfway to her lips, then went completely still, staring. “ _Jävel_.” The man staring at them from across the plaza gave her a slow, leering smile and Gustava sighed. “Dean, wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”

She stood up and walked down to the street, leaving her charge behind as she approached Alistair. “ _God dag,_ Alistair,” she said politely. “ _Hur mår du?_ ”

“I am quite well, Gustava,” the wizard replied with that same smile. “I see you’re escorting a student on their pre-term shopping. How… nice of you.”

“A friend of the family.”

“I’ll be sure to distribute the proper reading material among the first years, then.”

Gustava felt her lip curling back. “He isn’t blood kin, if you must know, you prat. And I don’t appreciate your fear mongering among my students, either.”

“The next generation must be informed,” Alistair replied with a sly smile. “Unless you would condescend to an exclusive with the Prophet.”

Gustava rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Really, Alistair? You’re still chasing that limp straw?” She let her eyes flick down, then back up in a mild suggestion of what else she thought was limp. “I’m not going to sit down you with for a tete a tete about my best friend’s death, thank you. Even if she was killed by Voldemort.”

Alistair flinched at the name and glared at her, his skin going even paler than usual. “Not even Death Eaters have the gall to speak the Dark Lord’s name aloud,” he growled, waving a finger at her warningly.

“Only Death Eaters call him the Dark Lord,” Gustava shot back. “He was never my lord of anything and I won’t grace him with that title now.” A flash of true anger showed in her eyes and she tried to get a grip on it before she started to shout. “Do you have any idea how many of my family died at the hands of Death Eaters, Alistair? Do you? They killed women, children, the elderly. They killed my great-grandmother in front of me, Alistair. Don’t talk to me like I don’t know the danger of fear and dark magic. I’ve seen worse than you could imagine in your safe little office.” She took a deep breath to calm back down, still glowering at him. The temperature in the air around them had dropped noticeably and she twitched, acknowledging her own loss of control. When Alistair appeared to have nothing more to say, she nodded at him once. “If you’ll excuse me, Alistair, I still have shopping to attend to.” She turned her back on him and stomped back to Dean, half throwing herself into the chair and picking up her cold coffee with an irritated snort.

“What was that all about?” Dean asked softly.

Gustava sighed and looked over at him, noting how much his worried expression reminded her of John. “It’s a long story, Dean. You’ll get a lot of it eventually.”

He nodded, studying his plate. “What’s a Death Eater?”

Gustava flinched. “To make a long, complicated story embarrassingly incomplete and short, Death Eaters are dark wizards who followed an even darker wizard who rose to power around the time you were born. He killed a lot of people, made wizards all over the country, all over the world terrified for their lives.” She sipped at the cold coffee, glared at it for being cold, and tapped it with her wand to warm it up again. “Most wizards still call him ‘He Who Shall Not Be Named’ because they think his name will draw his attention.”

“Is he still around?” Dean asked in surprise.

“No one’s seen him for years,” Gustava admitted with a small shrug. “He might have died. He might just have gone underground. But he’s not as active has he used to be. Hopefully, things will stay that way.”

Dean nodded quietly, then looked back out toward the press of people in the street. “I guess even real magic has scary problems.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Gustava sighed with a smile.


End file.
